


in our bedroom after the war

by InkBlotAngel



Series: time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Empath!May, F/M, Get Andrew Home, Melinda May Feels, Melinda May's New Powers, Post-Season/Series 07 AU, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25290952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkBlotAngel/pseuds/InkBlotAngel
Summary: In this timeline, Bahrain never happened.Season 7 AU, diverges after what might happen after the visit to Afterlife in 7.08.
Relationships: Andrew Garner/Melinda May
Series: time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790437
Comments: 11
Kudos: 18





	in our bedroom after the war

**Author's Note:**

> With the series ending in a few weeks, I thought I'd send my main ship off with one last fic. Wishful thinking for an endgame for these two, but hey, a girl can dream and write fic!
> 
> Also, I've been wanting to write something that expresses my thoughts on May's two greatest romantic relationships, and I think I managed to do just that in here.
> 
> All timey-wimey paradox mistakes are my own. But this is an AU anyway, just go with them!
> 
> It's been fun sailing the Meldrew ship, and thank you AoS for giving us Andrew even for just a few episodes—best ex-husband ever, if you don't count the Lash plot point in season three (which, yeah okay, I might still be salty about).
> 
> Title from the eponymous studio album and song by Stars.

He’s home.

He’s _alive_.

Her hands were still numb with shock she couldn’t feel, one of them moving as if in slow motion to reach for the doorknob. Cool fingers brush over the metal—warm, solid, and familiar, the memories barraging into her all at once: of playful swatting as she insists she can open the door for herself, of her bruised palms meeting one more fight before finally arriving home, of clumsy fumbling as he presses her flat against the door, lost in the moment.

She hesitates, still unsure. It’s a lot to process.

She and Elena in Afterlife, years and years before Jiaying even sought out Eva Belyakov.

Finding a kindred spirit in the young Jiaying, with her regal grace and riveting quietness, that some of the walls came down enough for the story to unfold. 

In this timeline, Bahrain never happened.

In this timeline, she remained married.

In this timeline, he never became a monster.

In this timeline, Andrew is waiting for her to come home.

* * *

She collapses on the front step, head leaning against the railing, her face in her hands.

Bahrain never happens, and yet it doesn’t change anything, doesn’t erase the years of lingering trauma, the unsurmountable guilt of taking a little girl’s life, the silent heartbreak of not having Andrew by her side even if she was the one to push him away. 

Her newfound powers might have taken away her ability to feel anything, yet the memories are still there. Behind closed eyes, Katya haunts her, the unnerving smile, the outstretched hand, the pale and limp body in her arms all so vivid as the day it happened. 

She’s already lived out a lifetime in which she did things differently and saved the girl instead. In that world, everything came crashing down far worse than her reality. In that world, she became the walking memorial of 279 civilian lives and lost herself in the hatred of millions of people around the world. In that life, she lost Andrew, too.

There has to be a catch somewhere. It’s all too good to be true for Bahrain to have never happened, Katya controlled, perhaps, and likely destined for her birthright when Jiaying believes she’s ready, and Andrew alive. 

There has to be something, anything—she’s made peace with the fact she will never deserve peace, that trauma is her constant companion, and that she’s never meant to be happy. The handful of times she sought out her own happiness—trying for children, a second chance with Andrew, another shot at love with Phil—it always ended in tragedy.

There _has_ to be a catch somewhere.

Her ruminations are interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, and she freezes, heart hammering in a soulless beat. Then the front step shifts with a new weight, and she’s suddenly overwhelmed by a scent so long-missed she was almost sure she was just imagining it, unmistakably male yet distinctly _him_ , evoking thoughts of all the times she’s tucked her head into his neck, the smell never failing to comfort her.

(She wonders if she could at least feel that again.)

To the rest of the world, she is a headstrong and fearsome presence with a name that was legendary in its own right, commanding respect from everyone wherever she went. She is always the protector, the shield, if not as the soldier then as the second-in-command, the supervising officer.

But it was with Andrew, this gentle-hearted man who gave the best hugs and had pens in his pocket than guns, that she felt the safest with. With him, she had somewhere she could let her guard down and just be herself. He was her source of strength, his innate goodness a daily reminder to always put purpose and heart into her work. He was who she came home to once upon a time.

A hand lands on her shoulder, gentle yet non-intrusive the way it could only be him, but the gesture causes reality to crash into her—he’s here, he’s _alive_ —that she jerks up at the contact, finding familiar brown eyes looking at her, and his concern was so overwhelming that suddenly she finds it hard to breathe.

“Melinda?” his deep warm voice pierces the silence between them.

It’s too much. _Too much._

She takes flight.

* * *

  
When you lose the love of your life, what comes next?

She’s spent six months, and truthfully all of the previous seven years back then, mourning about not having an answer. In fairy tales, everyone always seems to live happily ever after, as if the story continues onward without anything else ever gets in the way. There’s certainly nothing said about what happens when you drive Prince Charming away, much more when he dies.

They were just finding their way back together after all these years of having never stopped loving each other, before Lash got in the way and tore them apart again, a tragedy mythologies are made of. Far be it for her to deny that she hadn’t considered all the things she could have done better: accepted his invitation to dinner weeks after he disappeared on her, kept a closer look at him while he stayed in stasis at the ATCU, maybe she should have pushed Jemma for the Inhuman cure instead of telling her off.

All these what-ifs then didn’t amount to anything, not back then and certainly not now.

_I wouldn’t change anything. You’re still the center of the best moments of my life._

Phil was the unexpected answer to the question, her second chance at a one great love after Andrew. He had always been a constant in her life, the once-unspoken could-have-been never getting into the way of them developing a steady partnership over the years. 

He was the best man to her wedding, she was asked to be one of Audrey’s bridesmaids before New York happened (she had declined, but promised to attend). He allowed her time off to rekindle her marriage, she didn’t ask questions whenever he came back to the Playground late after a meeting with Rosalind, smelling faintly of liquor and Chanel No. 5.

She was conflicted about these newfound feelings for her friend, worried he’ll see it as a rebound, wondering if it would be an insult to Andrew’s memory, and always, _always_ afraid something catastrophic was going to come out of it. It was violating the way Radcliffe played up these hidden emotions for her LMD’s programming, though it certainly put a lot of things into perspective.

In the end, they got less than what they could have had, but more than they could have ever hoped for. Still, she’s had to close a chapter of her life with yet another death, one that has left her behind all over again, like she was cursed.

( _“I guess… I’ll see him soon enough,” she whispers brokenly to Daisy, the life slipping out of her as she welcomes death, the ever-elusive shadow that had taken so much from her already._ )

* * *

There’s a small park with a playground two blocks away from their marital home. Its proximity was a factor when she and Andrew decided on the house, future children in mind.

It’s blissfully deserted today save for an elderly couple on the lone garden bench, so she opts for one of the seats on the swing instead, her boots scraping the ground roughly as she rocks back and forth, lost in thought.

It’s where Andrew finds her not more than ten minutes later, worry furrowing his brow. He walks towards her with caution, footfalls deliberately heavy so she can hear his approach. He’s in his element as a psychologist right now, she recognizes, making sure to give her some space for herself.

She’s always loved that about Andrew, how he respects her boundaries, and her needs and wants without turning it into a power play. She tries to muster up emotion, anything, but her powers fail her, and all she could do is look back at him helplessly.

She doesn’t know this man, doesn’t know what kind of life they have together in this timeline if they had any at all. _Oh god do we have children_ , the alarming thought flits through her mind, yet no words come out. But the way he looks at her speaks volumes—she may not know the whole story, but there’s still so much love there, it takes her breath away.

Suddenly she longs to touch him, to feel what he was feeling, to know if he loves her enough to still have her, broken pieces and all. 

She needs to know if Andrew is _real_.

She stands and starts walking to meet him halfway until she could feel his body warm and alive in front of her. Almost instinctively, his arms go up, clearly about to wrap her in them before he stops himself and looks at her, the unspoken question hovering in the air. She answers by stepping into his space, hands resting on his shoulders and she tucks her face in his neck just as how she used to do, as his arms finally close around her.

Immediately she feels the full spectrum of Andrew’s emotions. Worry was a predominant one followed by confusion; clearly, he was still thinking about her sudden flight reaction back home. She draws him in closer, standing on tiptoe, her hands locking at the nape of his neck as she breathes him in, yearning for that heady mix of comfort and desire his scent always evoked in her. It didn’t come, although there's still something so familiar about it. 

What did hit her was Andrew’s love and loyalty, unwavering in its strength so much that something in her just _breaks_. She gazes up at him, hands moving to caress his face, chasing the threads of his devotion—the only thing holding them together right now. She tilts her head up and kisses him softly, and beyond his immediate smile she could feel his relief and the glimmerings of happiness, shining brighter than the sun in the sky.

He doesn’t know this Melinda May either, not the one who grieved him and moved on with their friend, only to go through the heartbreak of loss again. He doesn’t know the woman who was traumatized by a young gifted individual and dealt with years of trauma and depression, who had to make hard decisions when he became a monster, who got sent off into an alternate reality where he hated her, and thrust into a grim future and then the past that changed their present altogether. 

But they’re here, and they’re _now_ , and even if there are so many things they have yet to find out and figure out, what they do know well is each other. It was going to be a difficult journey, but if they’ve crossed lifetimes and timelines to end up here together, then there’s nothing else they can’t conquer. 

For the first time, for reasons that are purely for her own benefit, she’s grateful for her powers, if only to feel how she’s never been more certain of anything in her life until now, in Andrew’s arms.

They'll be okay.

She did good.

Now she’s coming home.

**END.**


End file.
